Infected Symbiont
by FemaleChauvinist
Summary: Determined to completely rid his patient of the disease he fears, is it possible for Dr Bashir to go too far?
1. Appointment

**Disclaimer:** While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Dr Bashir are not to be regarded as authoritative. Recognizable characters and plotlines are the property of Paramount and Viacom; all original characters and story © 2018 FemaleChauvinist.

 _Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety._

 **A/N: "Season" given for timing reference only; see my profile for the alternate history used in this story. Barbie**

 **Season Three**

 **Chapter One: Appointment**

Trystmar Shan laced his fingers behind his neck, stretching his head back to get out the kinks caused by sitting in front of a computer screen for several hours. "That about wraps up the case, sir."

The lawyer Kelburr Bendris nodded in acknowledgement of his young aide's remark. "Good. I'll read it over, and you can start going over the briefs for the Stenhovron trial."

Trystmar drew a deep breath and slowly blew it out. "Actually, sir, I was hoping to have a chance to see the doctor while we're here on the space station."

Bendris looked at him sharply. "You look healthy enough to me. What do you want to see a doctor for?"

"I can't seem to get back to Trill for my physical," Shan explained, looking away. "I saw the science officer here is Trill, so I figured their doctor should be able to take care of it for me."

Bendris snorted. "Waste of time," he dismissed. "It's sick people who need doctors, not healthy ones. Still, I suppose you've earned some time off; if you want to spend it in the infirmary that's your concern. Just make sure I have those briefs ready by the time we leave."

"Yes, sir; thank you. I'll just make the appointment now and then get started on them."

"You do that, then."

 **oOo**

Dr Julian Bashir sat in his office in the Deep Space Nine infirmary, reading the latest medical journal on his padd but finding it difficult to keep his mind focused on the text from sheer lack of activity. He had often noticed that patients seldom seemed to come to the infirmary at a steady rate. Either they all descended at once and he was left wishing he could be in two or three places at a time, or apparently everyone on the station was healthy and his duty shifts were achingly boring. He thought briefly of continuing the research he was working on but dismissed the notion, having reached the stage of boredom that becomes a lazy lack of motivation to do anything.

He would never wish pain or sickness on anyone, but the sound of the communicator's tone came as a welcome relief. "Dr Bashir," he responded.

"Yes, Doctor, this is Trystmar Shan; I'm a visitor on the station, and I was wondering if you treat Trill."

"Of course," Bashir responded instantly, his mind drifting to Jadzia.

"I know it's short notice, but would you have time to squeeze me in for an appointment tomorrow?"

Bashir smiled wryly. "I could see you now if you wanted?" he suggested hopefully.

"No, I have some work I have to get started on; tomorrow will be fine if you have time."

"Yes; would ten hundred hours suit you?"

"Fine," Shan said, a note of relief in his voice.

"May I ask if there's a specific problem you wanted to see me about?"

"No, no problem," Shan said a little too quickly. "It's just for a basic exam; I'm overdue for my annual physical, and I can't seem to get back to Trill."

"Right; I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr Shan. You know where the infirmary is?"

"I'll find it. Goodbye, Doctor."

Bashir leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips in thought. Something was off about the young man's manner; he was nearly certain there _was_ a specific issue he wanted addressed, perhaps something of a private nature that he didn't feel comfortable sharing over the communications system. Certainly in his experience people had to be reminded of their annual physicals; they weren't so conscientious about the date that they would go to a strange doctor wherever they happened to be if they missed it and he wasn't available.

He could usually do even the most extensive physical in half an hour if he found nothing wrong; now he blocked off two hours the next morning — though he admitted to himself as he did so that perhaps it was merely wishful thinking that this patient would keep him busy for that long.

Then he stood up, deciding that being on duty did not necessitate sitting around an empty infirmary. Leaving things there in the care of his nurse, he went up to Ops to see if Jadzia had as little to do as he did.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	2. Physical

**Chapter** **Two: Physical**

Bashir glanced over the PADD the nurse handed him, displaying the basic medical history Shan had given in response to her questions. He was twenty-five, the doctor noted, and had been joined for three years. His last physical had been nearly one and a half years ago on Trill, and as far as he could recall nothing had been out of the ordinary.

"Have a seat on that biobed, Mr Shan," Bashir invited when greeting and introduction had been gotten out of the way.

"Just Trystmar is fine," the young man told him, doing as he asked and sitting clasping and unclasping his hands in his lap. He was too nervous for just a physical, Bashir thought again. Certainly some people were that nervous about being in a doctor's office for any reason, but those that were put off having their physical until they were forced to.

But Bashir said nothing about it then, attempting to put Trystmar at ease as he asked the routine questions and conducted the basic exam. He was a bit more thorough than he might have been if he had suspected nothing wrong, but still found nothing he couldn't attribute to the young man's current state of anxiety.

"Well, it looks like I can give you a clean bill of health," he said, looking up cheerily after making a note on the PADD. "That is, if there really is nothing else you wanted to discuss with me…?"

Trystmar sighed, biting his lip. "Yeah, I guess there is."

Bashir leaned half sitting against the other end of the biobed. "What's the problem?"

"It's not exactly a problem; more of a-a concern. The doctors on Trill told me I was worried over nothing, but I thought as someone who _isn't_ Trill, you might be less likely to assume things about my species."

Bashir smiled. "Well, I don't know about that, but I think I can promise not to dismiss your concerns without due consideration."

"Good enough," Trystmar said, once more clasping and unclasping his hands nervously.

"Go on," Bashir encouraged.

Trystmar sighed. "My last host died of a rare disease — Ogravrett's syndrome. You've heard of it?"

Bashir nodded. "I've read a few texts discussing it. It doesn't affect the symbiont, if that's what you're worried about."

"So they told me," Trystmar said grimly; "that's why I agreed to be joined to Shan. But as I accessed memories from previous hosts, I realized that my fourth host back also died of Ogravrett's. I asked the doctors about it, and they insisted it doesn't affect the symbiont and had to be coincidence. But honestly, Doctor…what are the chances of two of my hosts dying of the same rare disease?"

"Small enough that it's worth looking into the possibility that the symbiont is acting as a carrier," Bashir admitted, "though it's still just possible there's no connection."

Trystmar relaxed slightly in relief that he was at last being taken seriously. "Thank you, Doctor," he said quietly.

"Save your thanks for when I've actually done something," Bashir dismissed. "You said your fourth host back died of Ogravrett's, as well as your last host; that means you had two hosts in between who weren't affected?"

"Yes, but one of them died of other causes before the symptoms would have shown up, and the other was over thirty when he was joined; I'm sure you know exposure usually has to occur before that to catch it."

"It sounds like you've done some research on your own," Bashir commented.

Trystmar shrugged. "One does want to know as much as possible about the disease that's probably going to kill you." He shuddered. "As if those two hosts' memories weren't enough…"

Bashir's eyes shadowed in sympathy; he knew what a painful death the disease caused. "I can take a blood sample and a tissue sample from the symbiont and run tests to find out for sure, but I won't have the results before you leave."

Trystmar laughed a little hysterically. "That's all right; part of me doesn't want to find out anyway." He swallowed, gaining control of himself. "I don't expect you to be able to save me, you know, Doctor," he said in a low voice. "But if you prove Shan's infected, maybe I can convince the Trill council to have the symbiont attenuated."

Bashir's jaw tightened; he wasn't as ready as Trystmar was to give up hope.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	3. Answers

**Chapter** **Three: Answers**

Bashir put Trystmar under general anesthesia to take the tissue sample from Shan; what the host perceived as injury to the symbiont could easily send Trystmar into a state of shock if he were conscious.

Trystmar sat up slowly after Bashir had given him the drug to reverse the anesthetic, the lingering effects still making him a little groggy.

"How do you feel?" Bashir questioned, scanning his abdomen.

"All right…a little sore."

"Mm. You should probably rest here for an hour or so, and then if you aren't showing any ill effects I can release you, as long as you avoid strenuous activity for a day or so."

"We're leaving tomorrow…is there any danger…?"

Bashir shook his head. "If you're going to have a reaction requiring medical intervention it will be in the next couple hours — and I really don't expect you to. Now, I should know something for sure within a month; how can I get in contact with you?"

"You could try sending a message to the ship, but if we're planetside I might not get it… We'll be passing this way again sometime after the Stenhovron trial; I don't expect that to be over in less than two weeks, and then with travel time it would be over a month… Could I just contact you for an appointment when we reach the station?"

"That will work," Bashir agreed.

 **oOo**

Bashir now found himself hoping for quiet days, even staying in the infirmary beyond the end of his shift. Research with the goal of aiding a patient with whom he was involved personally was far more absorbing than research for its own sake, no matter how many people he knew it might eventually help.

By the time Trystmar Shan returned to the station, Bashir was satisfied that he had some answers for him, though he said nothing when the young man called beyond fixing the time of the appointment.

When Trystmar arrived in the infirmary, Dr Bashir was startled at how pale he was. Earlier he had suspected something wrong only because of the young man's manner; now he actually appeared ill. "Are you all right?" he asked in concern.

Trystmar smiled tightly, leaning against the biobed and clutching it to still his trembling fingers. "That's what I'm here to have you tell me, isn't it?"

Bashir rested a hand on Trystmar's pulse. "Yes, but Ogravrett's wouldn't be affecting you this soon; do you feel as if you're coming down with something more… common?"

Trystmar shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping well the past month, that's all."

"Or eating properly either, I'd guess," Bashir said sternly. "That will weaken your defenses; I should check and make sure you haven't picked up a touch of something."

Trystmar shook his head. "Let's just get this over with; I don't think I can stand waiting much longer." He clenched his fingers on the edge of the biobed until the knuckles turned white, fearful he already knew the answer by the fact that Bashir had yet to tell him.

Bashir sighed. "Shan did test positive as a carrier," he admitted quietly.

Trystmar drew a deep breath, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "And…me?"

"Positive."

Trystmar felt his knees go weak, and yet a strange sense of relief washed over him, as if he could face the worst better now that he knew it for sure and wasn't constantly alternating fear with a kind of desperate hope.

"That's it, then," he said, drawing a deep breath, his face so pale that Bashir feared he might faint. "But I _won't_ die that way — not again. As soon as the symptoms show, I'm having the symbiont removed; better to die relatively quickly and painlessly from disjoining. Of course, that still dooms the next host; if I can't convince the Council to have Shan attenuated, maybe a phaser shot to the stomach will be better." He laughed bitterly. "I suppose I shouldn't have told you; now you'll want me on antidepressants or something. But I'm _not_ suicidal — I don't _want_ to die, I just —"

"I understand," Bashir said gently. "I can't say I approve, and if you were in my care at the time, on my Oath as a physician I would have to do all in my power to prevent you, but I do understand. However, it may not have to come to that."

Trystmar shrugged. "Oh, I may die of other causes like those two hosts who escaped, but it still dooms Shan's next host — though with my memories, he'll know what to do."

"True, but that wasn't what I was referring to. There's a vaccine for Ogravrett's that's effective if given during the incubation period."

Trystmar blinked. "Why didn't you tell me last time?" he whispered hollowly.

"I wasn't aware of it then," Bashir admitted. "But I wasn't about to let you go with just a diagnosis; I've been doing research since you left. Apparently the vaccine is too hard to produce to be given to everyone, and Ogravrett's syndrome is too rare and hard to detect to be looked for in a routine physical; it would only show on a standard blood test if it happened to be the short period of time when the person was contagious. By the time the symptoms show, it's too late for the vaccine to be effective." Bashir shrugged. "Unfortunately, that means most cases still go untreated, despite a cure being available."

"And — what about Shan?" Trystmar questioned. "Will it cure him, too?"

"Just by itself, probably not," Bashir admitted. "Which wouldn't necessarily be a problem; each new host would just have to be vaccinated. But I've thought of a way to possibly disinfect the symbiont — only it isn't without risk."

"How much risk?" Trystmar questioned.

"It's difficult to say for sure, since this is a treatment I developed specifically for your case and it has yet to be tested. I expect you will be quite ill for some time, and there's about a twenty-five percent chance that nothing will be accomplished by it; that Shan will still be a carrier. There's even a five percent chance that he won't survive it, and you would die of disjoining. I understand that Trill put the life of the symbiont above everything, so if you don't want to take the chance, that's fine. You can just have each host get vaccinated; I won't take offense or consider my work wasted. I expect that's the route the Trill Council would advise you to take."

"Probably," Trystmar admitted. "But joined Trill are on active duty in Starfleet, and in a battle situation the risk of death is probably at least five percent…" He was silent for a moment in thought. "I'd like to try," he said finally. "And that isn't just me saying so; my previous hosts would agree, and so does Shan himself. And if the Council hears about it and wants to make trouble for me, I think I'm a good enough lawyer to argue my way out of it."

Bashir nodded acceptance of Trystmar's decision. "Since it is an experimental procedure, you'll have to sign a waiver beforehand stating that you understand the risks." He grinned. "Being a lawyer, you're probably one of the few who really will understand what you're signing."

Trystmar chuckled. "Watch out for loopholes," he warned teasingly. "So, how long will this treatment take?"

"Another thing I can't tell you for sure," Bashir admitted ruefully. "I can give you the vaccine as soon as I make sure you're healthy; I could start the treatment maybe a week later, as long as your immune system is in peak condition. But how long it will actually take… Given what I know of Ogravrett's syndrome, possibly upwards of several months, but that's basically just a guess."

Trystmar groaned. "Bendris is _not_ going to be happy to hear that."

"It doesn't have to be immediately," Bashir informed him. "I'd like to administer the vaccine right away, since the effective period wasn't entirely clear, and you'd have to stay on the station for at least three days so I can monitor you for any adverse effects. But I don't think there's any real hurry about treating Shan if it would be more convenient to come back in a year or so."

Trystmar shook his head. "I'd rather get it over with, and there never _will_ be a convenient time to take a couple months off. Better do it while I'm here; it was hard enough to convince him to come back this time. He couldn't see why a 'young, healthy Trill' should need a follow-up appointment."

"So how did you convince him?" Bashir questioned, a smile twitching at his lips.

Trystmar shrugged. "Oh, I just told him you'd run a test and hadn't gotten the results before we left — which was perfectly true. He didn't think the test could be all that important, but since it was practically on our way he finally agreed to stop. He wasn't bargaining for a couple of months, though."

"Have you told him about the Ogravrett's syndrome?" Bashir asked quietly.

Trystmar gave a quick shrug of impatience. "Oh, he knows I was concerned about it when I was first joined. He also knows the Trill doctors told me there was nothing to worry about; as far as he's concerned that should be the end of it. He doesn't believe in going to doctors much, anyway."

"I gathered as much," Bashir said dryly. "Would you prefer if I talk to him?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Trystmar said, relief evident in his voice. "He won't accept it easily in any case, but it might at least have more weight coming from you."

Bashir nodded. "I will, then," he promised. "But for now, why don't you come to an exam room, and I'll give you a quick scan to see if you're fit to take that vaccine."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	4. Clash of Wills

**Chapter** **Four: Clash of Wills**

"What's this about, Doctor?" Bendris spluttered, having reluctantly obeyed Bashir's summons to the infirmary. "I assure you, I've never been in better health!"

"No doubt," Bashir said dryly. "However, I didn't ask you here to talk about you. Your aide wished me to inform you that he will need to stay on board the station for several months to undergo medical treatment."

Bendris scowled. "Nonsense!" he dismissed. "Is this still about that disease he was harping on back on Trill?"

"I can't discuss my patients' conditions," Bashir told him; Shan had perhaps as good as given him permission, but he sensed this man would put stock in his own opinion over the doctor's word in any case.

"The doctor there told him he had nothing to worry about," Bendris continued as if Bashir's answer had been affirmative; "do you really mean to tell me you think you know more about Trill than they do?"

"I can't discuss my patients' conditions," Bashir repeated firmly. "However, I will tell you that it's essential that he stays here to undergo treatment."

Bendris crossed his arms. "You can't hold him against his will."

"On the contrary, sir," Bashir said evenly, "Mr Shan has expressed his wishes to stay here and accept the treatment I recommend; if you force him to leave against his will I believe it would be a case of kidnapping."

Bendris's face reddened, and for a moment he spluttered indignantly as Bashir wondered idly when the man had last had his own physical. "But that's preposterous, young man! I can't possibly stay here for three months or more."

"I never said you had to, sir," Bashir responded calmly. "But if you leave, your aide won't be going with you."

Bendris glared at him, then turned and stomped out of the infirmary without another word.

Bashir watched him go with a slight smile on his lips, then tapped his combadge. "Bashir to Odo."

"Odo here."

"You know the quarters of station guests Kelburr Bendris and Trystmar Shan?"

"I can find out; is there a problem?"

"Potentially; I have reason to believe Mr Bendris may try to force Mr Shan to leave the station against his will."

"Understood; I'll have a guard assigned to each of their quarters, and to their ship as well."

"Thank you," Bashir said, grinning to himself as he tapped his combadge to end the conversation. If Bendris meant to spirit his aide away, he wouldn't be leaving without a fight.

 **oOo**

"Mr Bendris has just boarded his ship, sir," the security officer reported over the combadge, standing just around the corner where Bendris would take no note of him.

"Alone?" Odo confirmed.

"Aye, sir."

"Good. But we won't assume he's given up yet; keep a guard at that docking bay until he actually leaves."

"Yes, sir." Leaning against the wall, the security officer settled in to wait.

 **oOo**

"Mr Bendris's vessel is requesting permission to leave, sir," Dax announced.

"Scan the number of lifesigns on board and check it against their crew manifest," Sisko told her.

Dax bent to work, and a moment later looked up. "No unauthorized lifesigns, sir."

Sisko nodded with a smile. "Grant them clearance, then. I guess Bashir was concerned over nothing," he added when Dax had followed his orders.

Dax pursed her lips, strangely averse to hearing Bashir criticized, however mildly. "Or all his security measures paid off."

Sisko shrugged. "Or that," he agreed, granting her the point without putting much stock in it. He yawned and stood up. "Well, I'm off duty for tonight. Good night, Old Man."

"Good night," she responded.

"Don't stay here worrying about that ship too long. It's gone, and good riddance."

Dax smiled. "Aye, sir. I won't."

 **oOo**

Adjusted now to the day-night cycle of the station, Trystmar Shan lay in his bunk, so deeply asleep he never noticed the light of a transporter beam wash over him. A moment later, the bed was empty as if he had never been there.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	5. Loopholes

**Chapter** **Five: Loopholes**

Trystmar blinked awake from a dream of transporter beams, a dream so vivid his stomach actually had that half sick feeling being transported had caused ever since he had been joined. Or…had it been a dream? Even in the dim light the room looked different…his cabin on the ship, not the quarters he had been assigned on the space station.

So, Bashir had been right, he mused, reaching in the dark for the combadge the doctor had given him. But before he could activate it, a transporter beam once more washed over him, this time depositing him on one of the pads in the Deep Space Nine space station.

"Thank you," he said, pushing himself to sit up.

The operator grinned. "No trouble; Dr Bashir said to watch for unauthorized transport. Say, are you all right?" he added as Trystmar stood, then half doubled over with a hand pressed to his belly.

Trystmar drew a deep breath. "Yes; transporting always makes me a little queasy, and doing it twice in two minutes doesn't help."

"Do you need the doctor?"

"No; I'll be all right if I lie down…and don't transport again anytime soon," he added with a wry smile.

The operator nodded. "I'll call someone to walk you back, then."

Trystmar flushed. "That's not necessary; I'm really fine. It's already passing."

The operator eyed him doubtfully, but didn't argue further.

 **oOo**

Trystmar grinned as he walked into the infirmary the next morning. "Checkmate!" he announced jovially. "I wonder how long it took Bendris to notice I'm not there?"

Bashir chuckled. "That's a good question."

"I wonder if I still have a job," Trystmar mused a bit more seriously, but still without any true worry.

"I would think a joined Trill could do better, anyway," Bashir said seriously. "No offence, but he didn't strike me as a particularly good lawyer."

"Too blunt and opinionated? I know," Trystmar nodded. "He does argue well in the courtroom…but most of the arguments are mine; when the opposition throws in something unexpected, he usually fumbles and loses the case if I can't slip him a note in time. He was pretty much a nobody before he took me as his aide, and that was before I was joined.

"Actually, he was the one who pushed for joining," Trystmar added reflectively. "I was starting to make him famous, and he thought my being joined would increase the accolades — the prestige of an unjoined Trill having a joined aide, even if I didn't gain any additional skill."

He shook his head. "If he hadn't been pushing so hard, I don't think I would have accepted Shan even with the doctors' assurance that Ogravrett's wouldn't affect the symbiont. I wouldn't have in any case if I had known then about the second victim."

He shuddered, then grinned suddenly. "He _will_ be back for me, but maybe it's time I stopped building _his_ reputation and started on my own."

"You're not bound to him by contract?"

Trystmar's eyes twinkled. "I am…but there's a glaring loophole in it that I didn't see the necessity of pointing out — any decent lawyer would have seen it for himself, and I thought even then that it might come in handy one day…"

Bashir chuckled. "I will admit, it will just about serve him right to come back and find you gone."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	6. Forced Illness

**Chapter** **Six: Forced Illness**

A week after first giving Trystmar the vaccine, Bashir smiled as he studied the results of his latest blood test. "Your blood is producing antibodies; it looks like you're ready for the next stage of the treatment." He sobered. "It won't be pleasant," he warned Trystmar again, "and I can't guarantee some of the symptoms won't be the same as the last two times."

Trystmar winced, his face paling, but said nothing.

Bashir regarded him steadily. "If you promise me you won't attempt to take the easy way out, I won't put you on suicide watch."

Trystmar's head jerked up, a light of defiance in his eyes as his cheeks flamed red. "I'm not a sissy!" he declared hotly.

"Yet you told me…" Bashir reminded him quietly.

Trystmar sighed. "That I'd rather die quickly; I know," he admitted. "But the first stages aren't all that bad; I can stand it if I know it's eventually going to get better, not worse."

Bashir looked at him steadily for a moment, then nodded, choosing not to remind him that he had given him no guarantee that the treatment wouldn't kill him.

"This is the active virus, taken from Shan," Bashir explained quietly, producing a hypospray. "I'm going to inject it in your arm; when your immune response is at its height I'll take the white blood cells from your body and inject them into Shan."

Trystmar smiled a little weakly. "You realize that makes as little sense to me as legalese means to you?"

Bashir gave him a lopsided grin. "I actually think I understand legal terms a little better than most laymen."

"No offense," Trystmar said quickly.

"None taken," Bashir assured him.

"Just do what you have to do; I don't need to know the details."

"Fair enough," Bashir agreed. He pressed the hypospray to Trystmar's arm and injected the contents. Trystmar winced slightly, more from the thought of being injected with live virus than from any discomfort.

"It should be a day or two before you start feeling symptoms," Bashir told him in a businesslike tone. "You can go back to your quarters or anywhere you please on the station, provided you don't do anything too strenuous. You may be mildly contagious, but I've already vaccinated the only other Trill currently on board, so that isn't a concern. As soon as you start feeling ill, however mild, I want you to either come in to the infirmary, or call me on the combadge I gave you. Do you have any questions?"

Trystmar shook his head. "I don't think so. Thank you, Doctor."

Bashir merely nodded, walking him to the door before returning to his office to once more go over every detail of the treatment he had devised.

 **oOo**

Two nights later Trystmar woke in the middle of the night, sure the environmental controls in his quarters must somehow have been set about twenty degrees higher than was comfortable. Yet strangely, despite the feeling of excessive heat, he felt more inclined to cuddle down under the blankets than to throw them off.

He lay there for several minutes before it occurred dimly to his sleepy, fevered brain that perhaps this was the first symptom of the illness. He wondered if he should wait until morning to contact Bashir; surely it wasn't an emergency that necessitated disturbing the doctor in the middle of the night.

He did not so much decide to wait as lack the energy to move, but as he lay there he caught his breath as his heart gave a strange thump. Perhaps, after all, he did require immediate care…

His limbs were strangely heavy, and it was a struggle to reach across and tap the combadge Bashir had given him. "Trystmar to Bashir," he gasped, utterly worn out and sweating from the small exertion.

"Bashir here," came the doctor's response in a surprisingly short time; had he been asleep at all?

"I — need you…" Trystmar managed, his voice so faint he wondered if the doctor could even hear him.

"On my way. Bashir out."

Trystmar flopped back against the pillow, panting, trying to will his heart to slow down.

 **oOo**

Bashir had not bothered to undress that night, whether because some sixth sense had told him he would be needed, or simply because he had known his insomnia would not allow him to sleep. Grabbing the medkit, he slung it over his shoulder and left his quarters at a run. He had recognized from the sound of Trystmar's voice that this was a true emergency, and for a moment considered asking for transport. But Trystmar's quarters were near enough to his own he could get there in very nearly the same amount of time as would be spent requesting transport.

He did not waste time waiting for permission to enter but immediately entered his medical override code on the keypad lock. The lock beeped and the door slid open, and Bashir dashed in as soon as the opening was wide enough.

"Doc," Trystmar gasped as Bashir entered his sleeping quarters. "Heart…pounding…" He was nearly hyperventilating as he gasped for breath.

"All right," Bashir said gently, his tricorder already in his hand with Trystmar's heart rate spiking across the screen. He shrugged off the medkit and snapped it open, his movements so smooth that his manner seemed completely calm and reassuring despite his haste as he reached for a hypospray. Pressing the tip to Trystmar's neck, he deftly injected the sedative. Then he took out the portable respirator, one hand thumbing it to the appropriate settings even as the other fit the mask over Trystmar's mouth and nose.

"I want you to breathe slow and deep," he instructed, his voice nearly hypnotic in its calmness. "In…and out… In…and out…"

Trystmar relaxed slightly as his heart and breathing steadied and slowed, and Bashir once more checked his vitals with the tricorder. "That's better," he said with a smile. "Can you tell me if there are any other symptoms?"

"Room…too hot," Trystmar said, his voice muffled by the mask but easily understandable to the doctor's keen ears.

Bashir glanced across the room at the environmental controls. "It's sixty-seven degrees in here; you feel overheated?"

"Yes…cold at the same time."

Bashir glanced again at the tricorder screen. "You are running a fairly high fever," he admitted. "Anything else?"

"Arms…so heavy…barely move…" He sighed, closing his eyes, and Bashir understood the list of symptoms was complete.

"All right. Let's get you to the infirmary now." He tapped his combadge. "Bashir to infirmary; I need a stretcher in guest quarters 402, stat."

"Right away, sir."

Bashir smiled slightly, laying a hand on the side of Trystmar's face. "I apologize," he said quietly. "I had no idea this would come on so suddenly or I would have had you under observation in the infirmary."

"That'sh all right."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	7. Drastic Treatment

**Chapter** **Seven: Drastic Treatment**

When the team of medics arrived moments later, Bashir supervised as they loaded Trystmar onto the stretcher, and walked beside him back to the infirmary.

There Trystmar was transferred to a biobed, and Bashir quickly activated the entire array of monitoring equipment. He removed the mask of the portable respirator, replacing it with a nasal breathing tube, more as a precaution than because Trystmar currently needed the additional oxygen.

"So hot…." Trystmar murmured, moving his head restlessly as Bashir deftly inserted an iv line.

Bashir rested a hand on Trystmar's forehead. "I wish I could reduce your fever for you," he said regretfully. "But fever is part of your body's immune response, and that needs to be as strong as possible for this to work; I can only bring your temperature down medically if it reaches dangerous levels." He activated a cool gel pack and laid it on Trystmar's forehead. "That should make you a little more comfortable, and I _can_ give you something to help you rest." He injected the hypospray, and Trystmar sighed and drifted into a fitful sleep.

 **oOo**

The next day Bashir stood in his office staring at the readouts from the monitoring equipment, frowning deeply in thought. All the signs indicated it was time to take the blood that would provide the serum to treat Shan, and yet he wondered if Trystmar was strong enough to stand it. He still required regular medication for a recurring cardiac arrhythmia; would his heart be able to stand the strain of blood loss?

And yet if he did not take the blood, or if he delayed too long, there was no point to any of this, and he had caused Trystmar's suffering for nothing. Perhaps if he transfused fresh blood simultaneously, the shock would not be too great…

His mind made up, Bashir turned and strode purposefully from the room to begin giving orders to his medical team.

He showed no sign in his manner of his indecision and doubts; to his nurse Enorra he seemed as confident in his treatment as ever. And so, while she thought silently that it seemed a bit drastic, she didn't question the doctor's orders. She knew nothing of this syndrome, little indeed about Trill, and trusted simply that Bashir would give the correct and appropriate treatment.

 **oOo**

Bashir stood at Trystmar's bedside holding the syringe of serum he had developed from Trystmar's blood, simply staring at it and thinking.

He hesitated longer over injecting it than he had over injecting live virus into Trystmar; not because the danger was greater, but because he was at last fully admitting to himself how great the danger was. The virus was all through the symbiont, but it caused no illness or immune response because it was no threat. To inject Trystmar's white blood cells and antibodies would hopefully jumpstart an immune response — but despite being joined they were still foreign to Shan; was it an immune response he could survive?

It was not too late to abort the treatment; to tell Trystmar when he recovered that it had been too dangerous and the next hosts would have to be vaccinated.

But that would mean all Trystmar's suffering had been for nothing, and Bashir was still certain he could effect a full cure.

Trystmar was already sedated; setting his jaw, Bashir inserted the needle deep into his abdomen, into the umbilical that supplied Shan with nutrients from Trystmar's body, and pressed the plunger down.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	8. Violent Reaction

**Chapter** **Eight: Violent Reaction**

Trystmar sat up suddenly, panting hard, his eyes roving wildly around the darkened infirmary. It was happening again; he could feel the disease beginning in his body. And those doctors were torturing him; keeping him alive as long as possible. Worse; when they finally admitted there was no hope and removed the symbiont, letting him die mercifully quickly of disjoining, it would only be to pass it on into another host. He couldn't let that happen; had sworn not to allow the cycle of suffering and death to continue. He had to get out of here; had to find a weapon to kill Shan.

It was not suicide, he felt now. No; Shan had become the enemy to his fevered mind; he must be killed before he could do any more damage. And if Trystmar must forfeit his own life to kill him, it was a worthwhile sacrifice.

He barely heard the alarm that shrilled out as he swung his legs over the side of the biobed and pulled out the iv line; barely heard or saw the nurse run into the room. ''Mr Shan!" she exclaimed, hurrying toward him.

''I…am…not…Shan!" he growled, baring his teeth.

''Mr…Trystmar…get back in the bed; let me call the doctor for you," she coaxed soothingly, approaching him slowly with hand outstretched.

''No more doctors!" he cried wildly, pushing past her.

She gave a short cry as she fell, striking her head solidly on a piece of equipment.

Trystmar continued on without looking back, but suddenly found his wrists caught in a pair of hands like steel bands as Dr Bashir materialized unnoticed from the shadows. Thrashing wildly and howling in rage, he attempted to break free, but the doctor's grip was firm.

Transferring both Trystmar's wrists to one hand for a moment, Bashir grabbed a hypospray from a nearby kit and injected the contents.

The sedative worked almost instantly, and Bashir was ready to catch Trystmar as he slumped over, unconscious. He carried him back to the biobed and lay him down, then glanced at Enorra's crumpled form long enough to assure himself that she was breathing and that her neck was not at an unnatural angle.

His combadge beeped as he turned his attention back to Trystmar. ''Odo to Bashir; is everything all right in there?"

''Yes; I had a delirious patient who became violent, but he's sedated now; it's not a matter for security."

''Understood. Odo out."

Bashir checked Trystmar's vitals, then ran a regenerator over his arm where he had torn it ripping the iv out. He reinserted the needle, then added a slow, steady dose of sedative to the cocktail of drugs Trystmar was receiving in the drip. He watched the monitors for a moment to assure himself Trystmar was stable, then knelt at Enorra's side, resting a hand on her cheek. ''Enorra?" he called softly.

She moaned, her eyes fluttering halfway open.

''Sh; don't try to move," Bashir cautioned, running his tricorder over her.

''Tried…to stop him," Enorra murmured thickly.

''I know. He's sedated now; I don't want you worry about him. Let's concentrate on you for a moment, shall we?" He slipped his hand under her head, probing gently until his fingers found the tender lump.

"Is there any nausea or blurred vision?" he questioned.

"No."

"Good. Now I want you to sit up…slowly…" He helped her with an arm around her shoulders, then held her leaning against him as he scanned her head with the tricorder. "Looks like just a mild concussion," he reported. "I can fix that up in no time. Are you dizzy at all?"

"No…just a bad headache."

"Little wonder," Bashir said wryly. "Let's get you to a biobed and get it taken care of." He helped her slowly to her feet as he rose; he could have carried her, but he wanted to observe how steady she was on her feet. He withdrew his support slowly, leaving only a hand barely on her arm to guide her and be ready to catch her instantly if she wavered.

"Lie down," he urged softly when they reached the biobed, and she gave a sigh of relief as her head touched the cushion.

"I'm not giving you pain medicine just yet; we'll see if you still need it after I resolve the concussion. Patient area, lights up."

Enorra groaned softly, closing her eyes as the lights above her biobed brightened to daytime intensity, leaving Trystmar still in night-cycle dimness.

Bashir mentally noted her light sensitivity, even as he reached for the device that would seal off any bleeding and reduce the swelling. When he had finished, he once more ran the tricorder over the area. A small pool of blood was trapped beneath her skull, but nothing he thought would be a danger until her body could absorb it naturally.

"Turn this way…let me see your eyes…good. How's the headache?"

"Better…I could still use something for it."

"Of course," he responded, reaching for the hypospray. "And then I want to keep you here for observation at least for a couple hours." He wouldn't release her until the trapped blood had dissipated, he had observed that some patients' brains were more sensitive to even slight trauma than others, causing symptoms even when a regenerator had been used to resolve the actual concussion.

He keyed something into the computer, setting the biobed to monitor her brain wave activity as well as her heart rate and breathing, and then went to check Trystmar and call for a backup night nurse.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	9. Do No Harm

**Chapter** **Nine: Do No Harm**

Bashir studied the results of the latest battery of tests he had run with an increasing frown. Shan had indeed begun to fight against the illness, and it seemed likely that within a relatively short time the symbiont would be completely free of infection.

But in the meantime, the toxic byproducts of the virus' death were pouring into Trystmar's body, adding themselves to what had been caused by the injection Bashir had given him. It was this that was so dangerous; the virus itself was actually self-limiting and relatively harmless, the vaccine working by killing it before it could reproduce enough for the byproducts of the virus' death to reach harmful levels.

For now Trystmar's kidneys were doing an adequate job of filtering the blood, but soon the poison would reach critical levels and they would be overwhelmed. Bashir's eyes shadowed as he realized he could well have caused the very syndrome he had promised to prevent, but he could spare no time to consider the ramifications of that now; he was not yet ready to give in. Calling a team to assist him, he began prepping Trystmar for surgery.

Trystmar was kept constantly sedated now; there was need for only a little more anesthetic to be sure he would feel no pain.

Bashir first inserted a hemoscrubber to aid the kidneys in their task. The small blood-cleaning device would not completely filter out the poison, or it would be used more commonly in the treatment of Ogravrett's syndrome, but he had hopes that it would at least reduce the concentration to levels the kidneys could handle.

Then he turned to the source of the poison, the umbilical cord that carried nutrients from Trystmar's body to Shan, and waste from Shan to be disposed of by Trystmar's elimination system.

He cut carefully into Trystmar's abdomen, exposing the cord just where it entered the sac that cradled the symbiont. It was a spiraling twist of two tubes, and he tested the blood they contained to determine which was ingoing and which outgoing. Unable to afford making a mistake, he marked the correct twist with a spot of dye, an unnecessary aid to his photographic memory.

He handled the cord with utmost care; the poison it was pumping out was highly toxic to Trystmar, but perhaps would be equally as dangerous to Shan if the flow was blocked for even a short time.

Dr Bashir had the length of tubing ready as he made an incision in the cord, inserting it deftly almost in the same moment. Only a very little fluid escaped, and he cleaned it away carefully to prevent infection.

The liquid gushed into the tube, carried to a receptacle where its level of infection would be analyzed before it was disposed of. The bulk of its volume was pus and serum from the symbiont rather than blood, but Bashir would monitor Trystmar's blood volume closely and give him transfusions as needed.

Glancing once at the monitors to assure himself Trystmar was stable, he began closing the incision up to the point where the tube exited.

He drew a deep breath as he straightened, going to clean up as his team completed their final tasks.

"You may go," he told them quietly, returning to the bedside. Looking at his face and hearing the tone of his voice, they exchanged looks with each other and left without a word.

Dropping to one knee beside the biobed, Bashir took Trystmar's limp hand in his. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

He had been wrong, he acknowledged now; so focused on whether he could report all tests negative that he had lost sight of his true goal as a doctor — not for his patient to be completely free of disease, but to enable him to live the best quality of life at the least risk for the longest time possible. It was not always possible to meet all three; often a balance had to be achieved, a decision made as to which was the most important in this particular instance. But in this case he could well find he had failed at all three; had gone against the essence of the vow he had made as a physician to Do No Harm.

And it had all been unnecessary. He had told Bendris Trystmar _had_ to undergo the treatment, but that had been an outright lie. If each host had been vaccinated, the disease in Shan never would have caused any problems; it was only his own pride that had made him want to eradicate it completely.

Yes, Trystmar had been eager for that as well, but it was his past hosts' memories driving him. Had Bashir told him only of the vaccine, it would have been sufficient hope for him; he might still have been uncomfortable with the burden of infection the symbiont carried, even pushing to have it attenuated, but if he was unsuccessful a few hosts free of Ogravrett's would have quieted Trystmar's fears in Shan's collective memory.

Even now, Bashir couldn't justify not mentioning the treatment to Trystmar at all; it was his duty as a physician to discuss all possible options with his patient. But he should have glossed over it; dismissed it as too hazardous; dissuaded Trystmar even if he insisted he wanted to take the risk.

Now he was faced with the very real possibility that he might have caused the very disease he had promised to cure — a possibility, he realized now, that he had known all along existed but had pushed to the back of his mind as too slight a chance to be worth considering.

And if Trystmar did develop Ogravrett's, what then? He could not condone suicide, yet could he let Shan die another lingering, painful death knowing there was no hope of saving him?

No, he decided. If it came to it, if there was no more hope of saving Trystmar and he could no longer adequately control his pain, he would remove the symbiont and let him die of disjoining.

And then — he would destroy the symbiont as well. Not in an effort to hide his misdeeds by preventing Trystmar's memories from being transferred to another host, but because the symbiont by that time would be so riddled with infection as to be fatal to a new host.

This would be the end of his career, Bashir supposed. He had little hope of hiding it from the Trill Council; they would sue him for malpractice at the very least, and he would not deny the charge.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again.

But as he got to his feet, there was a quiet firmness in his eyes rather than despair. Having decided his course of action, his calm resolve had strengthened to do all in his power to prevent it from becoming necessary.

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	10. Regrets

**Chapter Ten: Regrets**

For nearly a week the levels of poison in Trystmar's blood fluctuated up and down, hovering near the critical level. Bashir barely left the infirmary during that time, and delegated as many of the other patients to his staff as he could so he could monitor Trystmar personally. Several times he felt sure it was only his immediate intervention that kept the levels from passing what he considered the point of no return. But in the end there was only so much he could do; he could only watch and wait and hope.

And at last his hopes seemed to be rewarded. At first he assumed the lower levels in the latest reading were merely another minor fluctuation, but when the next three readings were each slightly lower than the one previous, he began to hope Trystmar had at last taken a turn for the better.

Trystmar's recovery was slow. Even when his blood and the symbiont both tested free of the virus and its byproducts, he remained weak from his long illness. There were drugs and devices that could have hastened his convalescence, but Bashir felt it was better for him in the long run to recover naturally as much as possible.

He was no longer kept sedated, but still slept much of the time, and seemed only half aware even when he was awake.

But at last there came a day when he opened his eyes and looked at Bashir with true recognition. He blinked, then swallowed. "How…long have I been out?"

"Over a month," Bashir said quietly.

A frown crossed Trystmar's features, and he briefly closed his eyes. "Please…please tell me what I did was only a dream."

Bashir raised an eyebrow. "Not being privy to your dreams, I wouldn't know…"

"The nurse…I didn't attack…?"

"I'm sorry," Bashir replied quietly.

Trystmar groaned, turning his head away. "And I tried to take…the easy way…" His whisper was nearly voiceless, but Bashir heard.

"Yes," Bashir admitted. "But you were out of your head with fever and not responsible for your actions; it's as much my fault as yours for not sedating you sooner."

"I didn't…hurt her?"

"No; she's fine," Bashir assured him with a smile. "You can apologize to her later if you want; right now I'd like you to tell me how you're feeling." His own apologies, too, could wait; Trystmar was still too weak to hear them now.

 **oOo**

"So, did it…work?" Trystmar questioned as Dr Bashir returned after reviewing the results of a final biopsy on Shan.

Bashir looked away. "Yes," he said quietly.

"But something's wrong; what is it?" Trystmar asked in some alarm.

Bashir turned back with a tight smile. "Nothing," he assured his patient. "You and Shan both test negative for active virus; it's still latent in you from the original exposure, but since you've been vaccinated I don't see that causing you more than mild illness for a few days."

"All right, but my question stands; what's wrong?" Trystmar insisted.

Bashir sighed, sitting beside the biobed. "What's wrong is I should never have put you through that," he admitted quietly. "I very nearly killed you — not just _lost_ you; _killed_ you. I promised to keep you from getting Ogravrett's syndrome, then turned around and nearly gave it to you myself." He shook his head in disgust.

"To cure Shan," Trystmar reminded him.

"It was never necessary to cure Shan," Bashir said quietly. "He was never in any danger, and you and his future hosts would have been completely safe with the vaccination. I…wasn't truly acting in your best interests, Trystmar; I just wanted to prove I could do it."

"Which you did."

"Yes, but it was a risk I never should have taken, and I'm sorry."

Trystmar cocked his head. "I could say I forgive you…but I truly don't feel there's anything to forgive. I won't say I would make the same decision a second time, but I'm glad we did it. The vaccination might have been enough, but I still would have felt the threat hanging over me — over any future host who couldn't convince the doctors on the Council that it was necessary. There's a sense of freedom in knowing Shan isn't infected anymore. You gave that to me, Doctor, and for that you have my gratitude."

Bashir's smile this time was closer to being genuine. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I wish I could feel I deserved it…but thank you."

 **Next chapter coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	11. Payback

**Chapter** **Eleven: Payback**

"So, I don't have to worry about Ogravrett's anymore," Trystmar mused as Bashir prepared to release him from the infirmary.

"No," Bashir agreed. "The virus is still latent in your system, but your immune system should be able to handle it easily when it becomes active a little before the symptoms of Ogravrett's syndrome would normally appear. You'll probably feel ill for a few days, with similar symptoms as when I infected you, but much less severe."

"Will I need medical care?"

"I would advise it, if only as a precaution. I'm giving you your medical history on a data solid; you can share that with your doctor at the time. And after the illness, you would be wise to have the symbiont biopsied just to be sure it hasn't been reinfected. I don't think it will, but I'm sure you don't want to take chances."

"No, indeed," Trystmar agreed with a shudder. "Thank you again, Doctor."

Bashir merely nodded, still not entirely feeling he deserved Trystmar's thanks.

 **oOo**

"I've returned for my aide," Bendris announced, entering Bashir's office nearly six months after he had left the station.

"I tried to stop him, sir," the nurse said apologetically, her anxious face appearing past Bendris' shoulder.

Bashir held up a hand. "That's all right, Antolar."

Nodding, she quietly slipped away, and Bashir turned his attention to his uninvited guest. "Your aide isn't here, sir, but he left this for you." He pulled a padd from a drawer, switching it on before passing it to Bendris.

Trystmar's letter of resignation came up automatically, and Bendris' face turned purple as he read it. Dr Bashir tensed, one hand hovering near his tricorder, ready to jump to his feet and give immediate aid if the man should suffer a heart attack or stroke.

"What-what is the meaning of this?" Bendris sputtered, leaning across the desk and jabbing a finger at the offending padd.

"I believe the meaning is quite clear, sir," Bashir said calmly, relaxing and leaning back in his chair as Bendris' color returned to a more normal shade, though still flushed with anger.

"But it _says_ he's resigned as my aide and left the station. He can't do that; we have a contract!"

"The terms of which, as I believe he explains, allow him to leave your service at any time."

"But I never _meant_ —"

"I know," Bashir admitted, a slight twinkle in his eye. "But as a lawyer I'm sure you're aware that the outcome of a case more often hinges on what a document actually _says_ than what its author claims to have meant."

Bendris scowled. "Where is he?" he asked sullenly, reminding Bashir of a child who had been told he couldn't have what he wanted.

"I'm afraid I couldn't say."

"You mean you don't know?"

"I mean that if he did not leave you his address, I don't feel I'm at liberty to pass it on." He got to his feet. "I'm afraid I have patients to see, Mr Bendris, so good day to you."

"Now look here —"

"Mr Bendris," Bashir cut in firmly, "I really must ask you to leave. Will you go on your own, or do I need to call security?"

Bendris glared murderously for a moment, then spun around and stormed from the room; Bashir knew that if the door hadn't been automatic it would have been slammed loudly.

Grinning, he sat down and leaned back with his hands clasped behind his head — the patients he needed to see having been a fiction in order not to have his dismissal seem too rude — and thought about his last conversation with Trystmar.

They had been eating dinner together at Quark's on Trystmar's last day on the station.

"So, you've decided not to wait for Bendris?" Bashir questioned, accepting the padd Trystmar had just asked the doctor to give his former boss.

Trystmar nodded. "I'm no coward, but it strikes me that it would be a lot harder for him to kidnap me if he didn't know where I was."

Bashir chuckled.

"Besides," Trystmar added more seriously, "I don't see any need to wait around for him when he left no word when or even if he'll return."

"He'll be able to find you when you become famous," Bashir said half teasingly.

Trystmar shrugged. "Maybe I'll change my name — or if I do win a few high-profile cases, I'll have enough money to hire my own security."

"So, where are you going — or would you rather not tell me?"

Trystmar grinned. "I think I can trust you to keep it quiet. But so you won't have to lie, I'll wait and contact you in about a year."

Bashir shrugged. "It isn't that important."

"It is to me," Trystmar said quietly. "I intend to keep in touch with you, and if you're still practicing when the time comes, I want to be near enough to have you as my doctor when the virus becomes active."

Bashir quirked an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you still trust me."

"At the very least, you believe me; if you tell me the symbiont hasn't been reinfected, I'll know it's true and you're not just assuming it isn't because you think it can't be. Besides, I'm still not convinced you did anything wrong; you promised you'd cure Shan, and you did."

"I almost didn't," Bashir said quietly. "I gambled on a one-percent chance; since I won, it's easy to say _now_ that I did the right thing. If I had lost, the Trill Council wouldn't have nearly as forgiving a view of it — and they would be right."

"Maybe," Trystmar conceded. "But you're talking as if my survival was purely a matter of odds. I didn't survive because I happened to be the lucky one percent; I don't even think I was. I survived because you're a talented and dedicated doctor who fought to save me _in spite of_ the odds."

Bashir grinned. "Well, they accuse me of being arrogant, so you won't hear me deny it."

Trystmar grinned in return. "Good, because at the risk of sounding arrogant myself, I'm an excellent lawyer, and no mere doctor is going to win an argument with me."

"So, if you're so determined to be grateful to me, can I call in the favor if I ever need an 'excellent' lawyer?"

"What, for a malpractice suit?" Trystmar asked teasingly.

A faint, bitter smile touched Bashir's lips that had nothing to do with what he perceived as his error in Trystmar's case. "Something like," he said quietly.

"Of course," Trystmar responded, all levity gone as he realized Bashir's request had been serious. "Call on me anytime."

Bashir nodded, relief in his eyes. "I hope I'll never have to, but thank you in advance."

Trystmar looked at him, wondering what specific instance he was thinking of for which he might one day need a lawyer, but decided it wasn't his place to ask. "Wherever I am, I'll come when you need me," he promised quietly. "And whatever it is — even if you really are guilty — I'll give you the best defense possible."

THE END

 **A/N: Of course, what Bashir's thinking of is the possibility of his enhancements being discovered… Originally in my alternate history for that (which I may or may not ever get around to writing), I had Bashir defending himself, so I had to time this story afterward because why would he defend himself if he knew a lawyer who felt he owed Bashir a favor? But then I thought why not just write it that way…? (Keeping some of the parts I liked by having Bashir think he might have to defend himself if he couldn't find Trystmar in time.) Barbie**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


End file.
